


The Truth Will Set You Free

by Bounding-Heart (Brief_and_Dreamy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Snark, mortal peril, passionate kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brief_and_Dreamy/pseuds/Bounding-Heart
Summary: Getting Cursed by dark wizards is the best thing that ever happened to Draco.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 43
Kudos: 671
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	The Truth Will Set You Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannibae (xstarxchaserx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xstarxchaserx/gifts).

> Heaps of affection for my betas, A and P. I hope you enjoy this, Hannibae!
> 
> There is no actual sex in this fic, but I've rated it Explicit for detailed and descriptive dirty talk.

'No! Godammit, Malfoy, what have you done?'

Draco twitched. He blinked through a haze of confusion, then groaned as white-hot pain splintered through his body. He was flat on his back on an icy cold stone floor. 

'Lie still. You're going to make it worse.'

Such a familiar voice… Draco forced his eyes to stay open. A human-shaped blur leant over him. It pushed him down and pulled a wand. His vision cleared. Potter. Of course. Of course, out of the four Aurors he was the one to find Draco. He clenched his jaw and tried to hold in another exclamation of pain. 

Potter's voice shook. 'Can you hear me, Malfoy?' 

Merlin, Draco must look bad. It must be bad. Really bad. Fear made his muscles tighten which sent another lightning bolt of pain down his spine. 'Yes,' he managed. 'As if I could avoid your yelping.'

With a thin smile, Potter said, 'Even now. Bloody hell.' His face swam above Draco, pale as parchment. He waved his wand and muttered a spell. His gaze travelled up and down Draco's body, which under different circumstances… 'Do you know what he hit you with?' 

'I… I'm not sure. It…' The throbbing in his back made it hard to think. He'd been bent over the table, examining the ingredients and the half-brewed potion bubbling in the cauldron, grimacing at its smoky, poisonous stink. He remembered. 'Widow's Breath! This is it, Potter. We found them!'

'You reckon?' Potter shook his head in exasperation. 'Yeah. This gang of scum are the brewers. And they're all in custody. Don't worry about them. _What did he hit you with?_'

He tried to navigate through the lurching sea in his head. Potter and the three other Aurors–Draco had countered their constant hostility by refusing to learn their names and just thought of them as Spotty, Dimwit and Arse-Face–had been exploring the house. On a hunch, based on personal knowledge of the usual tricks and traps of dark wizards' houses, Draco'd examined the walls until he found the hidden door to the cellar. He knew that if he called the others, they'd refuse to let him examine it. And after assisting them for the past three months, he was damned if he was going to let that happen. He opened the door and tiptoed down the steps. 

In the cellar, he found ever-burning torches shedding a wavering light across shelves laden with an impressive collection of tools and ingredients. Drying herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling. The air was thick with the caustic stench of Widow's Breath. The lab seemed to be uninhabited. Draco had thought he was alone. Then a ripple to his left–someone under a Disillusionment Charm. He'd spun, wand sweeping through the air, a _Protego_ on his lips, but was a split-second too slow. 

_Crystallum_. That's what his attacker had said. And Draco had flown backwards, hit the wall, and lost consciousness. _Oh god. Oh no. No._ He frowned and looked away, eyes stinging. 'It was the Crystallising Curse.' 

Potter went even whiter. He thrust his hand into his hair. 'There's not enough time to get you to St Mungo's.'

'I know,' said Draco. 'Can't Floo or Apparate like this.' He drew in a breath that burned through his lungs, and winced as his legs and back spasmed. Stupid. He'd been so stupid. The Curse caused a gruesome, painful death. His muscles would gradually transform into brittle glass until they shattered. Pride had always been his biggest weakness, and now it had done him in. 'Get my mother.'

'Your mother?'

'I want her here, send your…' He waved his hand. 'The deer.'

Potter's brow creased. 'Why do you want your mum?'

Draco tried not to let his muscles tense and bit back a cry of pain. He produced what he considered to be his most commanding glare. The corners of Potter's eyes crinkled slightly, but it otherwise had no discernible effect. 'Fuck! For the love of god, just get her! There isn't time. Or do you happen to have a vial of Dissolvo in your pocket?'

'No. No, I don't. But–'

'So get Mother!' Draco's chest ached. He pressed his palm against the sick, cold spike inside it. He focussed his mind on not bursting into tears in front of Potter. 

Jaw set, Potter said, 'You're not going to die. Hold still.' He leant close and pressed the tip of his wand to the centre of Draco's forehead. Draco wasn't dead yet. Potter would presume his shiver was due to pain. The spell settled over his skin in a wave of glorious warmth, and while the soreness didn't vanish entirely, it became manageable. 'Let's get you more comfortable,' said Potter, and waved his wand again. 

Draco rose a few feet in the air as a make-shift chaise lounge materialised beneath him. Not bad work, he thought. A few lumps, not the highest quality fabric, but it was soft and propped him up so he was no longer flat on his back. 'Thank you,' he said, and hated how prim he sounded. 'But it's the Crystallising Curse. Unless we offset the saline in the next ten minutes I'll be dead by sunset. You know that. We can't get me to St Mungo's in time, and neither of us has–'

'Malfoy,' said Potter, 'we're in a potions lab.'

The realisation hit Draco so hard that he grabbed Potter's wrist. 'Can you brew it? Are the ingredients here?'

'I'll see.' After gently loosening Draco's grip on his arm, Potter rose to his feet. He brushed off his knees, then disappeared from Draco's view. His footsteps padded across the floor, followed by the clink and rustle of ingredients being examined. 'Okay. There's ashwinder eggs, some belladonna and borage. And a bottle of camphorated spirit. I know that's not orthodox, but borage can replace the motherwort if we keep the heat below seventy-eight degrees and use a glass rod.'

'You're going to brew a potion? Yourself?'

'Who else is here? Sorry, but you're entirely in my hands.'

Draco's train of thought derailed for a moment. 

'Malfoy?' Potter said.

Draco shook his head. 'I'm definitely going to die.'

'Why do you say that?' 

'Because you're shit at potions. Potions class with you was a constant exercise in wondering if we'd make it out alive or if you'd blunder your way into creating something that turned us into wart covered newts.'

'_Evanesco_,' Potter muttered. He must have Vanished the contents of the cauldron. 'It's been six years since we were in Potions together.' More bottles clinked. An herbal perfume floated its way over. 

Draco hoped Potter had saved a sample of Widow's Breath to take back to the Ministry. 'In which time you've become an expert?' he said. 'When did that happen?'

'During Auror training. When I had an instructor who actually let me learn instead of insulting me non-stop.'

'Don't speak ill of the dead. And don't blame Snape for your failures, you were sloppy and careless and–'

'Shut the fuck up, Malfoy.' 

Potter sounded like he meant it, so Draco did. Anxiety skittered like insects beneath the surface of his skin. He listened, trying to figure out what Potter was doing, whether he was having any success. Merlin, this was hell, not being able to see. He squirmed, which didn't hurt as much as it would have before Potter's Analgesic Charm, but still warned him off trying to actually turn around and peer over the back of the lounger. 

Without Potter, and his face and eyes and coiled muscular tension to distract him, Draco began to spiral down into a well of self-recrimination. Potter clearly thought him an idiot now. And Draco couldn't blame him. What had he been thinking, bursting into the cellar all on his own when there were four seasoned Aurors available to act as human shields? Yes, he'd been virtually press ganged into serving as Dark Wizard Advisor on this case. How could he, in his position, say no to anything the Ministry asked of him? And yes, he loathed the way the Aurors felt they could order him around. The way they reminded him of how far his family had fallen, at how such _plebeians_ felt they had the right to… Thinking of them as plebeians might be part of the problem, he supposed, but still. It wasn't as if he was bothered because two of them were Muggleborn. Not much at least. He'd moved beyond all that. But it had nevertheless been supremely stupid of him to venture into territory–

'Yes!' 

Potter's outburst made Draco jump. 'What? What did you find? You can make the potion?'

'Close enough,' said Potter. The relief in his voice made Draco realise he'd been much less optimistic about Draco's chances than he'd let on. 'There's, er, a catch, though.'

_I'll bet it's one of those potions that only works if you have sex first_, thought Draco. Then: _I should be so lucky._ Then: _there's no way I could manage it in my condition anyway._ Then: _Draco, do shut up._ 'What sort of catch?'

'You aren't going to like it.'

'Right. Well. I supposed I'd like dying in agony rather less.'

'Don't be so sure.'

'Yes… Well, delve onwards if you wouldn't mind. The suspense is making my hair fall out.'

'That would be a shame.'

He'd spoken so quietly that Draco wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly. 'Pardon?'

'Nothing. Okay. The problem is that there's no bat's spleen, which I'm sure you know is necessary to generate the enzymes that start the fermentation process. Which is kind of vital.'

With that, Draco knew. He knew exactly what Potter was going to say next. And he came very close to being sick and passing out, coming to and then being sick and passing out all over again. 

'What they do have,' said Potter. He cleared his throat. 'Is a bottle of a potion that contains water which has sat for the correct lunar phase, which, if I counter the extraneous ingredients with charcoal, will definitely work.'

'I see.' 

'Only the problem, the bit I don't think you're going to be enthusiastic about, is that the potion I'm going to have to use is–'

'Veritaserum,' said Draco. He pressed a trembling hand against his forehead. 

'Yeah,' said Potter. 

Draco took a deep breath. 'Agonising death it is.'

Potter's footsteps padded back across the floor and then he was there, standing over Draco, teeth worrying his lower lip, looking ever so _concerned_. 'I'm really sorry, Malfoy. It's all we've got.' 

'The gods hate me,' said Draco.

Potter looked away, still digging his teeth into his lip, which was starting to look quite red and wet and plump, like a ripe cherry, which was a terrible cliché, but for the love of Merlin Draco was at death's door and thus allowed himself some slack. Under the best of conditions, Draco was quite adept at manoeuvring around the effects of Veritaserum. He'd had a decent amount of practice while being interrogated before the war trials. He knew how to answer questions indirectly, to give answers that were technically accurate if not completely honest, and he knew how to deflect the potion using Occlumency. But these were not the best of conditions. He had doubts–severe doubts–that he'd be able to resist its pull tonight. Not when he was weak with a curse. Not with Potter. 

Was it worth dying over? That remained to be seen. If the results were as spectacularly humiliating as he feared, it just might be. Nevertheless. 'Well, get on with it,' he said to Potter. 

Potter turned back to him. With a look of determination, his chin lifted with that air of _I'm making a choice to do the right thing, aren't I brilliant_ self-righteousness that made Draco wish he didn't so desperately want to get into Potter's robes, Potter said, 'I'll take some too. That way, you won't be at a disadvantage.'

'Hah!' Draco did not like the way that laugh had spit itself out, but it hadn't asked his permission first. If Potter knew the particular sort of secrets Draco was likely to reveal, he wouldn't be so confident. 

With a single eyebrow raised, Potter shrugged and headed off to do his worst with the potion ingredients. Dread tickled gleefully up the back of Draco's neck. He thought through his life and his choices and mused that all things considered, he probably did deserve everything he was about to get.

* * *

'It'll take about an hour and a half to reach full effect,' said Potter. He held two vials–clear liquid in his left hand, aquamarine potion in his right. He handed the latter to Draco. 

Draco eyed it. Miniscule bubbles effervesced through the liquid. All appeared to be in order. He might make it through the night after all. He might later wish he hadn't. He took the potion from Potter and sniffed it–odourless. Silently pleading for fate's mercy, he swallowed the liquid down. A bit of bubbling on his tongue, but no discernible taste. No immediate effects, either, so he couldn't tell whether or not it would work.

Potter had watched him intently, as if he were worried Draco might not be capable of swallowing a potion on his own. Once he was satisfied, he gave his own clear liquid a wary glance, then took a sip. 

Draco licked his lips. 'Am I going to be okay, Potter?'

Potter's eyes widened a fraction. He would have to tell the truth, Draco realised. No sparing Draco's feelings, no holding anything back to stop him worrying. 'I can't say for sure,' he said. 'Technically, the potion should work, but… It's hard to say what will happen with something so makeshift.' He sighed. 'God, I hope it works. I don't want you to die, Malfoy.'

Draco blinked.

With a startled expression, Potter continued, falling into a babble. 'I just mean that it'll be my fault if you die. Not just because I couldn't save you, but I requested you, specifically, for the case. So if you die, I caused it. And I don't…' His eyes grew wider. 'I don't…' His eyes shot back and forth. Very carefully, he said, 'I don't want to lose you as an advisor. You're very knowledgeable and I enjoy working with you.' He clenched his jaw and shuddered. 'Wow. I forgot what Veritaserum is like. I haven't taken any since Auror training.' He scratched his head, appearing much more nervous than Draco would have predicted. 'Right. We won't do any unnecessary talking. Okay? Reduce the risk that either of us will spill his deepest, darkest secrets.' He gave a wry smile. 

Draco had it on the tip of his tongue to say that he, himself, only had big, bright strawberry-scented secrets but found that the potion prevented the words from leaving his mouth. Damn. Instead, he cringed and nodded. 'Sounds like a sensible plan.'

Potter trudged to the wall and leant back against it, hands in his pockets. Something about the stance highlighted the length of his legs and the adorable way he tended to slouch, and his slouches did nothing to lessen the powerful effect of his Auror uniform. Draco had to admit, it was nice to know that Potter didn't want him dead. That was something, wasn't it? How pathetic to be grasping at such weak straws. Draco imagined Potter knowing he was thinking these things and blanched. 

'Are you comfortable?' asked Potter.

'I'm not,' said Draco before he could stop himself. _Oh no._

Potter pushed off the wall. 'What's wrong?'

_Oh nooo._ Draco pursed his lips as hard as he could, but his tongue worked on its own. 'Mmm sew uhking attrc de tuh yah nd terrfud ull fnd ot.'

Potter smiled with one corner of his mouth. 'Okay. Is that, uh, something I can help with?'

Oh, why? Why, Potter? If Potter had been a Slytherin Draco would have suspected that he was fucking with Draco intentionally, but no, this was just pure, ignorant blundering. Panic bubbled up Draco's throat and before he could stop himself, he said, 'You could, certainly, but I doubt you'd want to help me in this specific way.'

For a moment, Potter looked baffled. Then his expression sharpened. He examined Draco invasively, the way he probably looked at criminals when he was interrogating them. 'What do you mean?'

Squirming, Draco said, 'I thought we weren't going to speak.' 

'Do you need the loo?' asked Potter.

'No, for goodness sake.' Draco fervently hoped he would not need the loo before sunset. The idea of needing Potter to help him with that… He'd definitely rather die. 

'Then what?' Potter's hands had curled into fists. 

What on earth did Potter think Draco meant? Was he going to hit him? Draco shrunk against the back of the chaise lounge. 'You said we weren't going to speak,' he hissed. The answer to Potter's question swelled like a hot egg in his throat. He swallowed, but it wasn't going away. He knew it wasn't going to just go away. With vicious recklessness, he spat the words out. 'I fancy you. Yes? I fancy you and this _situation_ makes it impossible for me to relax, because you're there and we're alone and you're so _you_ and I can't stop imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to take your clothes off, to run my fingers through that ridiculous thatch you call a hairstyle, and I never wanted you to know, Potter. You weren't meant to know.'

Draco covered his face with his hands. The pity and disgust he'd find in Potter's face wouldn't be something he could handle. He considered staying hidden for the rest of the day but his arms began to ache. He let his hands fall into his lap. 

Potter was grinning. 'Feel better?' he asked. 

Simmering with furious embarrassment, Draco said, 'I guess.' Why did Potter look so soft and amused and lovely? Draco wanted to die. 'So, there,' he said. He tried to cross his arms, but found that it was still too painful to do so. He huffed. 'It's been said. And it will, I assume, make things awkward enough between us that you'll no longer feel comfortable working with me. The next time the Ministry decides to force me into service, I suggest you tell them to assign me elsewhere.' He kept his gaze averted. To his horror, once again his eyes began to sting. Merlin, help him. He'd employ an Obliviator once this nightmare was over, he really had no choice. 

'Malfoy.' Potter's smile had grown. Merlin, he was _glowing_, that's how amused he was by Draco's confession. The utter bastard.

'What?' Draco snapped.

'It's not really all that much of a tragedy.'

'Not from your perspective.'

'Not from anyone's. At least I don’t think so.' He raised his eyebrows.

_Hold on a moment._ Draco's pulse began to race. 'Because?' 

'For the obvious reason,' said Potter. 'I want you too.' While his bearing didn't change, his face flushed red. 

Draco ran that over in his head several times. He couldn't… He must have misunderstood. Or Potter _was_ fucking with him. Only, he wasn't. It wouldn't be possible, under Veritaserum. He swallowed. 'Ah,' he said. 'I see.' 

In typical fashion, Potter refused any half-measures. He sat down on the edge of the chaise, close enough that Draco could smell his musky cologne. 'You have no idea how much I want you,' he said. 'How much I've wanted you. For a while now.' His eyes had gone dark.

Draco took a second, then closed his mouth. 'You did a bloody good job of keeping that to yourself.'

With a spark of amusement, Potter said, 'So did you. Honestly, you haven't said a word to me that wasn't dripping with supercilious contempt and you insult me constantly. How the hell was I supposed to know?'

Draco sniffed. 'If I'm that unpleasant,' he said, suppressing the urge to give Potter a hard flick on the nose, 'then why are you attracted to me at all?'

Potter sighed and looked at the ceiling. 'There's something about the specific way you insult me that… makes it all worse.' 

That, Draco had to admit, was interesting. He pondered, and then, in a voice both sharp and silky, said, 'Lucky for me there's so much about you worthy of insult.'

Potter laughed. 'Merlin.' He shook his head. 'You said that under Veritaserum.'

Draco shrugged a shoulder. 'And yet… I'm in the same situation.'

'If I'd known…' Potter scanned Draco's face, something hungry blooming. 'If I'd known you felt the same way…'

Heat spread through Draco's body. 'What?' He licked his lips. 'If you'd known. What would you have done?'

'Well.' Potter leant closer. 'I'd have asked you out.'

'Yeah?'

'For a start.'

The pain in Draco's back had dulled to a low ache, overwhelmed by the genesis of other sensations. That could be nice. A date with Potter. What would it be like? 'Not haute cuisine and fifty galleon bottles of wine, I'd imagine,' he said. 

'We could do that if you wanted,' said Potter. He'd tapped his fingers against the fabric of the chaise, close enough that they brushed Draco's hip. 'Although I know a pub that serves fantastic fish and chips and has live music in the evenings.' 

'That would do.' Something luminous had bloomed in Draco's chest. He tried not to let it show too blatantly. 'And what,' he ran his fingertips over Potter's knuckles and drank in Potter's resultant shiver. 'After that? We go out. I belittle you incessantly and turn you mad with desire. We manage to make it through the evening without duelling. Then?'

Potter threaded their fingers together. He circled the pad of his thumb against Draco's palm. 'I'd take you back to mine. That's what would happen next. I'd take you back to my flat, where'd I'd finally have you…' His voice dropped an octave. 'At my mercy.'

Draco had to make two attempts before he could speak again. 'I think I'd like that,' he whispered. 'Being at your mercy.'

'I think you'd like it too,' said Potter in that same, deep, musical tone. The increased heat radiating from his body curled around Draco like vapour. 

'And what would being at your mercy entail? Exactly?'

A glow–amusement, wickedness–bloomed in Potter's eyes. 'Well.' He cocked his head to the side and gave Draco an appraising look. 'First I'd get you out of those stiff, heavy robes.'

What would Potter be like _in flagrante delicto_? Draco fervently hoped the answer wasn't _sweet and gentle_. 'Would you… rip them off?'

'Nah.' Potter looked as if he knew exactly what Draco was thinking, what he wanted, and that he'd decided to torture him by withholding it. 'I'd start slowly. I'd unbutton them, starting at the top, one at a time.'

He pictured it–Potter's fingers working down his chest, teasing and languorous, while, with his eyes, he told Draco everything he was about to do to him. Draco was going to end up in a state of some discomfort if he allowed his imagination to follow this trajectory, given the curse had made it impossible for him to seek any immediate relief. He didn't care. 'I'd encourage you to get a bloody move on.'

Potter raised an eyebrow. 'I'd shove you against the wall and tell you that you're the one who's going to do as they're told tonight.'

'Oh,' said Draco, swallowing. Oh, yes. 'That would probably shut me right up.'

'If I'd known it was that easy–'

'Back to the undressing, please.'

Potter continued, smirking. 'Just in case, I'd find a way to distract you while I got you naked.'

'And how would you do that?'

He leant even closer, close enough that Draco felt his breath against his face. 'I'd see to that smooth, pale neck of yours.' He stroked Draco just below his ear. With a sharp inhale, Draco closed his eyes. Potter hummed, pleased with himself. 'Where you're sensitive.' With a feather-light touch, he trailed his fingers over the back of Draco's head. His voice grew soft. 'You have such beautiful hair.'

That startled Draco. 'Beautiful?'

'I think you're beautiful,' said Potter. He ran his eyes over Draco's face. 

Being well aware of what he looked like and the effect his appearance could have on others didn't make Draco any less breathless upon hearing this. 'That's really Veritaserum you took? You didn't mix it up with something else?'

'It was really Veritaserum.' Potter gave Draco's hair a little tug. 'I could look at you for hours.'

Draco tried to smirk, but was still too overwhelmed to give it the bite he'd intended. 'And aren't you lucky that today you're getting the chance to.' Mortal peril and Potter confessing that he found Draco _beautiful_ all at once. It was dizzying. 'So.' He waved his hand in a 'get on with it' motion. 'You're having a good go at my neck, which you've correctly guessed would make me weak at the knees. And disrobing me at the same time.'

'Yeah. And I'd push your poncey, over-elaborate robes that most likely cost enough to feed and house a whole Knight Bus full of war orphans–'

'Only half a bus, I think you'll find.' Draco straightened the cuffs of his sleeves, utterly unrepentant. 'Three quarters at most.'

Potter snorted a laugh. 'I'd push them to the floor.' He tightened his fist in Draco's hair. 'And then I'd rip your shirt off.'

Draco's breath hitched. 'About time there was some ripping,' he whispered. 'What would you do then, with me bare-chested and helpless?'

'I'd…' Potter thought. 'I'd lick your nipple.' 

Draco wrinkled his nose to show disinterest.

'I'd bite your nipple.'

Draco rolled his eyes.

'I'd ignore your nipples,' said Potter, exasperated, 'because apparently they're boring, and–'

'There isn't a single atom of my body that isn't entirely engrossing–'

'And work my way down–'

'That's more like it.' 

'To your trousers. I'd flick open your fly and slide down the zip–'

One of those words didn't make sense. 'Pardon?'

'I'd slide open your zip–'

'What is a zip? Some sort of Muggle nonsense?'

As Draco had intended, this made Potter glare. 'Is that important right now?' He'd started to perspire along his hairline, Draco noticed. 

'Well, if I don't know what you're talking about, it makes it–'. 

'I'd Vanish all your clothes,' said Potter, an edge to his voice. 'Every last thread of them.'

'I hope you keep your flat a reasonable temperature, I'm rather sensitive to the cold.'

'My god, you never stop talking.' He took a frustrated breath. 'I'd haul one of your legs up, spread you open…'

Draco opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say. He nodded, encouraging Potter to continue.

Potter moved his lips right next to Draco's ear. 'I'd open you up. Grind my fingers inside you. Get you nice and slippery.'

'Ahhh.' Draco grasped Potter's wrist, to have something to hold on to.

'I'd undo my trousers. I'd take out my cock.'. 

'You would?'

'Yeah. I would.'

'And…' Draco licked his lips, feeling faint. 'What is it like, your cock?'

Potter faltered, eyelashes fluttering. 'Er… It's good.'

Draco lifted his chin. 'What are we talking about here? An erumpent horn or a crup's tail?'

'It's… It's big,' Potter said experimentally, then grinned as he realised that the potion hadn't stopped him. 'It's huge.' 

'Oh my,' said Draco.

'Gig–' Potter choked. 

Apparently, huge was the potion's limit. Draco wondered exactly how it made such determinations. 'Well, that's very good news,' he murmured. 'So. You've made me slick and wet for you. You've taken out your _huge_ cock. What would you do with it?'

'I'd shove it in you.'

A whine escaped from Draco's throat. 'In?'

'Right in. Deep and hard, all the way up your tight little arse, hard enough to make you squeal–'

The blasted potion silenced Draco's attempt to protest that he did _not_ squeal. 

'–and I'd hold you tight against the wall and fuck you until the plaster cracked. 'Till the furniture rattled. 'Till the portraits fled. I'd fuck you until you were a babbling, sobbing, begging mess, and then I'd make you come so hard that you wouldn't stop seeing stars for a good six months.'

Draco scratched at the chaise, his pulse pounding in his temples, skin aflame. His own cock stretched his pants to their limit, threatening to stab right through the silk. 'Oh,' he said. 'This is hell. This is absolute hell. You were put on Earth by the gods specifically to torment me, I've always suspected this and now I'm certain. You're not human, you're a demon. A _sex_ demon.'

Potter's grin was the filthiest thing Draco had ever seen. 'I've been called a lot of things, but never a sex demon before. I think I like it.'

'You _would_.' Draco gasped, utterly lost. Potter had destroyed him, with barely a touch, only words. 'You drive me mad,' he said.

Breathing hard, eyes the colour of a storming sea, Potter grabbed Draco by the back of his neck, pulled him in and ravaged his mouth with a devouring kiss. Draco returned it, and the world centred on the heat of Potter's mouth against his own and the thundering of his heart in his chest. It wasn't until Draco tried to lift his arm to touch Potter's face that the pain became too much. He whimpered and went limp. Potter jerked away, looking mortified. He settled Draco down again, with a gentleness that felt shocking after his surge of passion. 

'God, I'm sorry,' Potter said. 'I got carried away.'

Feeling weak and clammy and still desperately turned on, Draco said, 'One hundred percent worth it.'

'I've wanted to do that for so long.'

'And all it took was a life-threatening curse and a makeshift potion to make it happen.'

'Par for the course in my life,' said Potter, the corner of his mouth quirked.

Draco, as gingerly as he could, shifted until he was snuggled back against Potter's chest. Potter wrapped an arm around him and buried his face in Draco's hair. They rested in silence. Draco presumed that Potter, like himself, was waiting to come down from the fantasy. For his pulse to slow. For his hard-on to give up hope. Once all that had happened, he said, 'And after?'

'After?'

'When I'm shivering in your arms, a euphoric, sweaty mess. What happens then?'

'Ah,' said Potter. 'What do you think, Malfoy?'

Draco craned his neck to look at him. 'Can you call me Draco? Please?' He didn't want to analyse why he needed it, but he did.

The way Potter's face softened made Draco's heart flutter. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Draco. And…' He gestured to himself. 'Harry?'

'No.' 

Potter frowned. 'You are so odd.'

Draco shrugged. Potter was Potter. The name was too deeply embedded in Draco's psyche–prayer and curse combined. He didn't want to give it up. He liked how it felt when he said it. 

'Well, _Draco_,' said Potter, a little hesitant. 'To answer your question, while it's obvious I'd gladly sacrifice a limb to fuck you, this goes beyond lust. For me at least.' He wound a lock of Draco's hair around his finger. 

'I'd be quite grateful if you'd be more specific,' said Draco. Something had started to hum within his chest and he couldn't yet tell if it was pleased surprise of if he were about to have a mental breakdown.

Potter sighed. Loudly. 'It's a kind of excuse, isn't it? Veritaserum. You don't have to reveal all the things you've been keeping to yourself, but it makes you want to. I mean, why not? Keeping it a secret has been torture. And telling you everything feels really good. For now, at least.' Draco felt Potter's muscles tense. In a firm voice, he said, 'I knew after that night.'

_Knew_. The hum inside Draco grew brighter. 'Which night. There have been several nights since we met. Which specific one are you referring to?'

'You know which one.'

He didn't. Not for certain. But he took a guess. 'In the pub. After they'd all left.'

'Yes. That Christmas after the war. When we talked. And I saw… You. I saw you. Who you really are, beneath all that snark and swagger.'

Mind swirling, Draco said, 'I think you'll find it's panache, rather than swagger.'

Potter's chest rumbled against Draco’s shoulder as he laughed. 'Okay, panache. Whatever. But…It was like… a light had been turned on. And I've been drawn to you like a moth ever since.'

Breathless, Draco said, 'Like a moth.' He stayed quiet then, knowing it was wicked, but he'd only have this power until he responded when Potter asked him–

'Right, so, what about you?' 

Draco counted to ten in his head. 'Yes,' he finally said. 'It's more than lust for me as well.'

Potter's body relaxed. 'How l–'

'Don't ask me how long,' he snapped.

'Oh,' Potter's eyes narrowed slightly. 'All right.'

Desperate to change the subject, Draco said, 'You haven't scolded me.'

'For what?'

'For not waiting for an official Auror escort before entering unknown territory.'

'Oh.' Potter swept some hair off Draco's face. 'Well, I understand why you did that. There's only so much anyone can take of doing what they're told, and I imagine it's much worse when you're there under duress and not being treated with all that much respect on top of it.'

Draco gaped at him. 

Potter's head retracted a fraction. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'I hadn't realised that you noticed how I was being treated or that you… cared.'

'I do care.' Potter pursed his lips, looking determined. 'I do care, Draco. You're…' He cupped Draco's jaw. 'Important. To me.' He looked away. 

'You're important to me, too,' said Draco. He knew what Potter meant about Veritaserum giving one an excuse to confess. He didn't add, _And you have been for long enough that it would be humiliating if I told you._

They gazed at each other. Something warm and bright shone in Potter's eyes. He smiled and Draco was flooded with bubbling happiness. This was real? This was real. He angled his face for a kiss. 'Be gentle with me.'

'For now,' said Potter. He feathered his lips against Draco's; kept them there, warm and strong, parted them just enough for the tips of their tongues to brush. 

Draco pulled back. 'It's nice to have something to look forward to,' he said.

'Tomorrow,' said Potter. 'After you're discharged from St Mungo's. Tomorrow night. I'll be waiting outside your room.' He nipped at Draco's earlobe. 

'No more of that,' said Draco, swatting at him. 'I've just barely calmed down.'

'I'll try and control myself,' said Potter. 'How are you feeling?'

Experimentally, Draco shifted his legs, tested the strength of his back. He winced. 'Better, but not altogether yet.'

'It will take a few more hours, I expect.' He pulled Draco closer to him.

Draco settled against him. 'Merlin, how many times are you going to save my life?'

'You make a good point,' said Potter. 'About time you saved mine, for once.'

'I promise,' said Draco. 'That I'll get on that as soon as humanly possible.'

'Good,' said Potter, leaning in for another kiss. 'Although as far as I'm concerned, you've already started.'


End file.
